


where we are

by tripleleaf



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tripleleaf/pseuds/tripleleaf
Summary: The Monkees didn't spend Valentine's Day 1968 in California.





	where we are

**Author's Note:**

> I was very nervous about posting this because it's the first fic that I've managed to finish in a while and I'm not sure this date/place format thing would work. Plus I don't know anything about America, American weather, county fairs or ghost towns, so please excuse any inaccuracies you may find. 
> 
> With that said, here's the fic as a belated happy birthday to Peter, and happy Valentine's Day to everyone.

 

**_Connecticut_**  
_**February 13, 1967** _  
  
“Davy, wait!”  
  
Davy was tearing through the ankle-deep snow like it was nothing. His feet sank a little deeper with each step until they were completely submerged, at which point he had no choice but to stop and wait for Peter, who was certainly more concerned with the physics of remaining on the surface.  

Peter finally caught up and successfully rescued him after an intense battle of tug of war with the quicksand snow. They collapsed onto the ground, panting, the white smoke of their breaths clouding the air around them. Each time Peter inhaled he felt the cold enter deep in his lungs, and it was a stab of excitement he’d never felt in the wintertime. He’d never liked winter that much – all those days of being huddled under the roof of their quaint Victorian house to the point where they were so sick of each other’s presence that he and his siblings bickered endlessly, with the occasional bright spot such as when their mother would gather everyone around the fire and read out loud a chapter from one of the many books they had in the house. 

“One does not appreciate winter enough until they get sunshine all twelve months a year,” Davy said, gazing at the grey, cloudy sky that would remain so for at least another month.  
  
“I’d like as much sunshine as I can get, thanks,” Peter shuddered. He still dreaded the gloomy reality of being surrounded by bleak white-out landscapes and having to shovel hard snow from the driveway every morning for months on end, but he had to admit he had considerably warmed up to it after a few years of being away. Perhaps because Davy was here, Davy whose presence never failed to brighten up whichever space he happened to be in.  
  
“I haven’t seen any snow since I left England, you know. This is like the next best thing.”  
  
“Good,” Peter reached out for Davy’s hand and laced their gloved fingers together. “I’ll come with you when you go back to England. Maybe next year?”

“You would,” Davy laughed softly. They stayed silent for a while, feeling the odd flake of snow falling on their faces and watching the sky even though there wasn’t really anything to see. He loved doing that with Davy, being washed over by a sense of peace as the world stretched out above them, reflected in Davy’s brown eyes. With Davy, he felt so young, almost in a childish way, and more often than not he would find himself laughing as he used to as a kid, when he saw more colors in the world than the current shades of gray.

Davy suddenly tore away from Peter and got up, charged like a stick of dynamite. “I challenge you to a snowball fight,” he declared, pointing at Peter’s chest like he was holding a sword. “Rise at once.”

“No, I don’t have the energy for that. I wanna lie here and make a snow angel.”

That cracked Davy up. “What’s the point? You already are one.” Slick. Peter rolled his eyes and scooped up a handful of snow, aiming right for Davy’s head. It caught him unawares and he yelped as it flew right past him, missing only by a mere inch. “Hey, you cheat!”

“You asked for it!” Peter was already gathering snow into his palms for his next shot when a large lump hit him in the chest, nearly knocking him over. He narrowed his eyes at Davy. “Really? On my birthday?”

“Or would you rather receive something like – TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY,” he started to belt the Beatles song at the top of his lungs. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YA!”  
  
Peter covered his face with his palm. “Please stop, that’s bordering on being excruciatingly embarrassing. Everyone can hear it. I’m twenty-four, it’s not a big deal anymore.”

“Of course it is, what are you saying?” Davy threw himself at him like a cannonball and tackled him to the ground, pinning him down by the wrist. “I will tickle you until you give in and say, ‘I am twenty-four and doing a pretty good job at this adulting thing.’ No mercy.”

Peter was already in hysterics. “I am… twenty-four....” he struggled between breaths.

“That’s more like it,” Davy smiled triumphantly. “I’m really looking forward to your mother’s chocolate cake." 

“Oh, right, let’s come in for some tea, see if we can steal a slice.” Peter wriggled himself free from Davy’s grip and got up. “I don’t think I can wait until after dinner.”

“Me neither,” Davy agreed, and they carefully made their way back into the house, leaving behind footsteps and drag marks that would soon be erased by new snowfall.

   
\---

_**Texas** _  
**_February 13, 1967_ **

Mike occasionally took his eyes off the road to study Micky’s sleeping form, all curled up in the passenger seat next to him. The two-day drive here had been nothing but numbing monotony. Even now, in front of the steering wheel there was nothing in sight but a dust road that seemed to lead nowhere at all. Except that it did, and though he had promised Micky a lot to see in Texas, it all had to wait – there was one thing that he had to see, possibly for the last time.

As he stepped out of the car into the stale afternoon sun, Mike realized that expecting it was one thing, but seeing it for himself was a whole different story. It was cruel how the town remained more or less exactly the same as he had remembered it, down to the pile of stones by the signpost that for all he knew could be the same one he had built with the neighboring kids all those years ago. But what he was seeing now was only the empty, lifeless shell. The fragile economy of the town couldn’t make it through the latest recession, having been fatally weakened by its many predecessors. Dust, splintered wood, trash, barren soil. And still, a very peaceful afternoon altogether. 

Mike didn’t notice Micky approaching until he was right by his side, squinting a bit underneath his wide-brimmed, newly-acquired cowboy hat. Whatever remarks he may have had, Mike was glad he restrained from voicing them. 

“This square was the only place us children could play,” Mike finally said to fill the silence. “Parents wouldn’t let us wander too far, and there’s nothing but sand and cacti around anyway.” 

Micky nodded. “Good thing children don’t need too much to have fun.” 

“Yep. I had the time of my life playing an Air Force general in mock battles.” His eyes drifted into the distance. “Our house is on the outskirts of town, right that way. Momma somehow managed to sell it after she got sick. Then she moved in with my great aunt, in a town near San Antonio.”

“Your aunt, is she…”

“Gone, too, just a few months after my mom,” Mike heaved a sigh. “I’m officially homeless in my home state now, I guess.” 

“Oh, Mike,” Micky put a hand gently on his shoulder. “Are you… are you going to take a look around? I can come with you, if you want, or I’ll wait here.”

“Don’t stay out in the sun too long. Get back in the car and wait for me. I…” His voice faltered a bit, belying the strangled sensation he felt in his chest. “I’ll just be a while. Then we’ll go on to somewhere more fun.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Take your time.” Micky gently kissed him on the cheek and walked away, his footsteps noiseless on the sandy ground.

\---

**_Connecticut_ _  
_ _February 14, 1967_**

During the night a snowstorm raged through the region and barricaded the roads and all the front doors with a thick blanket of snow. Peter and Davy at least managed to sleep soundly through the roaring winds that shook the entire house, but only to wake up in disappointment at the unexpected turn of weather that put an end to their plans to go skiing.

“Even if we manage to get out of the house, it’s going to be hell up in the mountains,” Peter’s father said over morning coffee. “I haven’t seen the weather this bad in recent years.”

“To be fair New England winters have always been known to suck,” Peter mumbled sulkily, munching on his leftover chocolate cake.

“Come on, Pete,” Davy nudged him. “It’s okay, really. It’s not your fault." 

“Besides, snow or not you boys are not going outside today. Not with that runny nose and sore throat, no,” his mom said firmly. “Get right back to bed after breakfast, now.”

And so they ended up lying side by side on Peter’s squeaky single bed again. One thing Peter loved about the layout of his room was that the bed was (rather unusually) placed right underneath the window so that when he lay on his back looking up, he could see the ceiling and a portion of the sky outside. Of course, there wasn’t anything to see right now but flakes of snow falling like dandruff, but during his teenage years he’d seen many, many starry nights.

“You have so many books,” Davy remarked, admiring the bookshelves that stood as tall as the ceiling. “Have you really read all of these?”

“Well, most. I was quite the nerd in high school. If only I remembered now a fraction of what I’ve read.”

“Is this what it’s always looked like? Your room?”

“Yeah, Mom kept it like a shrine since I left. Wouldn’t let Nicky mess anything up or take anything away without my permission, but then again I only have too many books.”

“You should come back more often, then, don’t let her wait too long. And you’ve got a pretty nice view, if you ask me.” Of course Davy would say so, being someone who loved looking up at the sky just as much as Peter. That was the first thing that clicked between them, and then hundreds of other pieces fell into place, and now there they were – Peter supposed this moment was something to appreciate despite the dreadful snow-in, after all. 

“Do you think your parents approve?” Davy suddenly asked, his voice low.

“What? They _love_ you. My mom would knit you a Thorkelson sweater for Christmas this year, I’m sure of it.”

“No, not me. Of our relationship, I mean,” Davy turned over to face him. “I know you’ve told them long ago, but us showing up hand-in-hand on the doorstep without notice?”

Peter supposed he understood the reason why Davy asked – he was probably thinking about the reception he would receive in Manchester if he came back with Peter in the future. “Nah, that’s only because my letter got lost. And no, they’re really fine with it. They’re super liberal,” Peter reassured him. “They’re over the moon about me turning up at home with my boyfriend out of the blue, honestly.” 

“That’s cool,” Davy sniffed, visibly more relaxed now. “You know, I miss Micky and Mike a lot.”

“Me too. I wonder how they’re doing. Mike did say he had some things to settle in Texas. I hope it doesn’t upset him too much.”

“He’s got Micky there with him, I think he’ll be fine. You think they would like to see some snow?”

Peter threw an arm across Davy’s belly and snuggled up to him, burying his face in Davy’s neck. “Maybe,” he hummed. “What’s your idea?”

“Snow in a mason jar. Don’t laugh.”

“It’s not stupid – doesn’t matter if it melts, it’s the thought that counts. We’ll get the snow as soon as my mom lets us get out of the house. Not anytime soon, though.”

“And what is there to do here in the meantime?” 

“All I ever do in here is read and sleep. Which do you prefer?”

“Sleep, without a doubt,” Davy yawned and closed his eyes. “Wait a minute, isn’t today Valentine’s Day? I just remembered,” he mumbled. "Happy Valentine's or whatever, Pete."

“A day as good as any other to sleep in,” Peter said, and together they drifted off to sleep.

\---

  
**_Texas  
February 14, 1967_**

“I’ve been to a lot of fairs,” Micky said, taking a large bite of cotton candy, “and I gotta say this one really gives California fairs a run for their money.” 

“What did I tell you?” Mike reached for Micky’s free hand, but on second thoughts settled his hand on Micky’s arm instead. “Let’s find a bench to sit down for a while.” 

The fairgrounds was swarming with people, most of them couples out on their Valentine’s date without any reservations to restrict their displays of affection. Kisses on the cheeks, kisses on the lips, kisses on the rollercoaster ride, hands holding, bodies touching. Mike and Micky had a wordless understanding that a distance must be kept between them, a distance they couldn’t afford to bridge out and about in public. Not back in California they didn’t, but only here in Texas, and Mike must admit he kind of resented the fact.

It took them a while to find an unoccupied bench at the edge of the fair. Though there were still a few people about, at least they finally had a sense of safety and privacy, and Micky cautiously rested his head on Mike’s shoulder.

“I’m so tired,” he said breathlessly. “The good kind of tired, but still. Tired.” 

“I think we actually managed to cover most of the games so far. How did you like the rollercoaster?” 

“I, uh, liked the view from up there.”

“Thought you were too scared to notice anything? I could barely hear the wind over your screaming,” Mike teased.

“Shut up,” Micky elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m just not used to riding such a big one. Why is everything bigger in Texas?”

“Should be self-explanatory – we have the space. Can I have a bite of candy?” 

Micky raised the stick of cotton candy level to Mike’s mouth. “Let’s get some candy apples in a bit. Can’t miss out on the county fair staple.” 

“Mhm.” Mike could feel the sun wash all over him, and he tried not to think about how at that very moment the same sun was shining on the ghost town he once called home. He stared at the fluffy cotton candy hard. _I’m having the time of my life here with Micky_ , he told himself. _Not now._

“You know what, the candy looks exactly like that cloud over there. Look up,” Micky raised his chin and pointed at a corner of the sky. “Right there.” 

Mike squinted to make out the shape. “I guess there is a resemblance,” he hazarded, frankly not seeing anything concrete enough, or rather, not being particularly interested in cloud-watching at the moment. 

“Come on, Mike. Mike,” Micky tried until Mike finally looked him in the eye. “You know what, kiss me now.”

The mere thought made Mike involuntarily twitch. “Later,” he said, sitting up a bit straighter.

“No, now,” Micky persisted, looking at Mike with insistent eyes but not making a move. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

They’d probably get into trouble: at best an onslaught of unkind words and intolerant looks, and at worst, perhaps a night in county jail. “No,” Mike winced. “Not with people around.”

“Then let’s get back to the games,” Micky got up and pulled him to his feet. “We’ll wait it out.”

Micky had really set his mind on the quest of distracting Mike. For the rest of the day Mike was whisked into ride after ride and countless games of dart until he finally won a balloon as a sympathy prize for all his efforts. When the stalls began to close at sunset, they slowed and wandered around, munching on candy apples and popcorn. Finally, in front of the big Ferris wheel at nightfall, they came to a stop, feet aching from the distance they’ve covered.

“Now?” Micky asked, looking around the deserted fairgrounds once again, just to make sure.

Mike swallowed. “Now. Happy Valentine’s Day, Micky.” And with that, he stepped closer and kissed Micky right on the lips like he had been meaning to all day long.


End file.
